Chelsea Kaplan’s Musings About Life... After Birth

The other day, Momtourage members Jen, Alison and I were eating lunch with our kids and we all noticed how curly-headed those four little buggers buggers are. Granted, that’s probably what you get with a group of nice, Jewish kids, but still - it’s pretty remarkable, especially since the corkscrewed gang resembles a scoop of Neapolitan ice cream - one blonde (mine), two brunettes (Alison’s) and one redhead (Jen’s). Curls like theirs are pretty are pretty enviable, and always bring comments; wherever we go, people always make all sorts of “Look at those gorgeous curls!” or “He looks just like a little cherub” remarks. I always thank people when they compliment him like that, and to those who make the angel reference, offer them the opportunity to take him home and discover that’s he’s actually a little devil just how angelic he truly is.

To maintain my kid’s curls, I use the Krly Kids products by Ouidad, the New York-based hair stylist who is known as the authority on curly hair. I know, I know - I’m definitely advancing my quest to make my son gay by using all sorts of fancy haircare products on him, but seriously, this stuff keeps his locks from getting all ratty, tangled and ‘fro-esque. If your kids have curls too, you gotta try this stuff - it’s fantastic.

Got a curly kid? Send me an email at chelsea@themomtourage.com - I’ve got four sets of the products to give away!

Little Bro had his 6-month birthday on the 14th. I can’t believe it’s been six months. Time flies when you’re having fun - and even when you’re not.

I took him for his 6-month checkup today and thankfully, he seems to be doing well. At 18.5 lbs and 27.5 inches, he’s in the 75th percentile for both height and weight, which is where he’s always been (and, interestingly, Big Bro has always been too). He got one oral vaccine and three shots, which was just so sad. His eyes got so wide when the nurse jabbed him with the first needle, and then he let out that terrible silent cry - you know, the one where the poor kid is in such intense pain and shock that he can’t even make sound at first. Poor dude.

Granted, I’m completely biased, but Little Bro is one adorable kid:

Big Bro is pretty darn cute too, yet they look really different, I think. Big Bro is a dead ringer for his dad at the same age, and has fair skin, blonde curls and blue eyes, while Little Bro has olive skin, brown hair and hazel eyes, and resembles my baby pictures.

It makes me a little sad that I haven’t been able to relish all of Little Bro’s developmental milestones the way I was able to with Big Bro. The first time we gave Big Bro food, both my husband and I were there for it, we took all these photos, and there was lots of cooing and clapping. Little Bro’s first food eating involved my tossing our nanny a jar of Earth’s Best Organic sweet potatoes and a baby spoon, then snapping a few quick photos before heading out the door to drop Big Bro off at preschool. I understand that that’s just how it goes with second, third, etc. kids, but it still makes me kinda sad. Especially now that the focus in our house is largely on potty training Big Bro, poor little bro gets a bit of the shaft in the attention/focus department. Little Bro is essentially along for the ride - sometimes even literally - and basically has to adapt to Big Bro’s schedule. I just have to keep reminding myself that he’ll most likely be a well-adjusted kid for it (unlike me, an only child who never really learned that I wasn’t the only game in town). I’ll let you know....

All in all, Little Bro has been a dreamboat of a baby. He’s so smiley and giggly; he just has such a sweet, cute personality. So much so that he’s somewhat suckered me into the idea of having a third. The funny thing is, when I was pregnant with Little Bro and found out I was having another little boy, it made me really sad. Of course, there was the part of me that was bummed I wasn’t going to have a daughter, but more so, the thought of having another insanely active little boy running around just completely frightened me. Big Bro is a major handful, and I had no idea how I would deal with another one like him. My husband reassured me that no one has two kids with the exact same personality, and sure enough, Little Bro is very different from Big Bro. Little Bro is in most ways far more chill than Big Bro ever was. He’s not in constant motion - even when strapped in a car seat, and he’s much more patient. On the other hand, he also seems a bit more needy - liking to be held more than his brother ever did, and less into hanging out in the Exersaucer or in the bouncy chair, unfortunately. Despite my early reservations, I’ve since realized that having this little boy is exactly what was supposed to happen for me. I absolutely adore this child, and feel a very strong bond with him. In some ways, it’s different han the one I feel with Big Bro. Not better or worse, just different. I knew I would love this baby no matter what, but I never knew how much I would. I thought my life with one child was pretty full of love, but with two - wow. Some days I’m not totally feelin’ that love, but on the days I do, it’s all cheese and Hallmark cards (was that redundant?).

So, as much as these past six months have felt like the most insane months of my life (and, likely, they have been), they’ve also been some of the coolest. Sometimes when I’m sitting on the sofa or cuddling on the bed with both of my little guys, I am overwhelmed with the feeling of how incredibly lucky and blessed I am. I mean, these two beautiful, sweet boys are mine - my family. I wish that kind of happiness for everyone. 

I’m nearly two weeks into potty training Big Bro, and sadly, it hasn’t been going too well. He’s definitely “ready” (or as “ready” as he’ll ever be), and we’re having decent success at home, but when we’re out, he rarely wants to stop what he’s doing to tell me he’s gotta go. Therefore, we’ve had our fair share of accidents - and a lot of them have been full-on gross, if you catch my drift. Just this week we had one at school today, one at the park the other day and another that same day when Momtourage members Meredith, Jen and I were at Chicken Out eating lunch with our kids. Ugh. I know we just started, but already, I am so over it and so frustrated. Obviously, I can’t communicate this to my kid, as that would only set us back even further, not to mention guarantee his presence on some therapist’s couch 20 years from now.

I needed some major advice, so I consulted my brother-in-law, Michael, a child psychiatrist and the father of two older kids (read: he’s done this before, and actually knows what the heck he’s talking about). He listened intently, and then offered these words:

“I think it’s time to bring out the big guns.”

“The big guns?”

“M&Ms.”

Really? I had always heard you weren’t supposed to use food as a reward when potty training, despite the fact that one Momtourage member (whose name has been hidden to protect the innocent - and the guilty) bribed her kid with her favorite, blue licorice. It worked like a charm, both in getting her potty trained as well as in turning her poop turquoise.

“Yes, you generally shouldn’t use sugary sweets,” he said, “but in this case, you need a jump start, and I think he’d be motivated by the reward.”

I wasted no time picking some up today - little Halloween snack packs that can easily be thrown into my purse. I picked up some extras for myself, my motivation to endure - literally - more of this crap.

When discussing this plan of attack with another child-development professional, she echoed my brother-in-law’s advice. “Honestly, would you show up to work if you weren’t getting paid?” she said. Point taken. “Don’t worry,” she reassured me. “Really, he won’t be expecting M&Ms when he’s 4.” Let’s hope not.

When I think about Michael’s M&M advice, it makes perfect sense - especially in the case of potty training. I guess kids sometimes need that extra goal - whether it be a piece of blue licorice or the ability to push the real-life vacuum as Momtourage member Sloane offered her son while training him. So, I’m trying the M&M trick, and hoping for the best.

I just hope I don’t reward myself with them too often. 

Big Bro’s gearing up for his first full year of preschool. On Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays from 9:15 until 12:15, Mom he will experience three hours of bliss a day filled with art, play, snacks, story time and socializing. I’m not sure who in our house is the most excited.

Of course, there’s a huge list of things I need to pack for his little cubby - a bag of extra clothes, a bag of diapers, a little tote bag, etc. - all of which must be “clearly labeled with his name”.  Sure, I could take a Sharpie to everything, but because it’s Southern, slightly preppy me, I had to do it a little cuter. For my labeling, I’ll be affixing some “Madras Navy” vinyl stickers from Whitney English (printed up with his name on them, of course) to all of his things.

In addition to being adorable, of course, I love that these stickers are waterproof and therefore able to withstand spills, the dishwasher, the sprinkler, the ocean - you name it. They can also be used as gift stickers, book plates, lunch labels, whatever.

Of course, the stickers come in all sorts of other cute little designs. Here are some of my favorites:

Vinyl Stickers from Whitney English. LOVE them.

Big bro has been going through a period where he prefers that we call him by a name other than his own. The name changes weekly, and most are plucked from things he sees on television. There was a five week-long “Backyardigans” phase where he was “Pablo” for one week, “Austin” for two, “Tasha” for another and then “Pablonator” (from the “Cops and Robots” episode, naturally) for the final week. After that, he wanted to be addressed as “Mr. Diego”, which I am assuming is some sort of Dora/Diego reference, though I have no idea from where the “Mr.” originated (because really, shouldn’t it be Señor ?). Up until last weekend, his name choice was “Pony”, one of the monster trucks in “Meteor and the Mighty Monster Trucks”. Interestingly, Pony is the only girl truck on the show - and just happens to be purple. As much as I’d like to use this selection as ”Maybe my son IS gay!!!” evidence, I actually think he likes her because she’s purple, his favorite color (which, still, is not totally masculine, right?). Anyway...presently, he’s “Remy” from the movie “Ratatoullie”. He’s even gone so far as to dub Little Bro “Emile” (the big brother rat in the movie, but whatever....), my husband “Daddy Rat” and me “Mommy Rat”.

When he chooses a name, we MUST address him as such. Calling him by his actual name gets you a swift admonishing ("It’s Remy."). He gets into it by referring to his newly-monikered self in the third person ("Remy wants a cookie!”, “Remy does not want to take a rat bath!"). If you want to get him to do something, the only way to be successful is to call him by his new name. Apparently, this goes on at school too. After requesting that she call him “Pony”, his teacher, who also happens to be Grandmomtourage member Debbie, mother of Momtourage member Jen, assumed this was my pet name for him, and asked Jen to confirm her suspicion. “No, I thought it was Mr. Diego,” she replied. Of course, I had to explain that no, in fact, he’s actually so obsessed with a purple, female monster truck (which part of that is the most objectionable?) from television that he feels compelled to take on her identity. “Ohhhhh...” they replied.

What’s funny about this story is that apparently my husband went through a similar phase. In the first grade, the school called his mother to tell him that he had been writing “Pelé Kaplan” as his name on all of his assignments.

His teachers were not amused. Neither was my education professor mother-in-law when they called her in for a conference and tried to tell her to make him stop. “Why don’t you just worry about teaching, okay?” she told them. “He can sign his name however he wants.” Oh, snap! Of course, she knew he’d eventually grow out of it, which he has. For the most part.

Of course, just like my mother-in-law, I know this little role-playing thing is a harmless phase. I just hope that when he’s tempted to dye his hair blue or pierce his nose to “express himself” in high school, he just asks to be called “Pony” instead.

Guess what Big Bro had for dinner tonight:

Yesterday’s L.A. Times featured an article about American interrogators and their “torture playlists”, essentially, the songs they’ve been playing over and over again in an attempt to torture prisoners and detainees.

As I read the article, I was reminded of when I was in college and my then-boyfriend, making me take a vow of secrecy that I am clearly breaking here, reported that during his fraternity’s Hell Week, he and his pledge brothers got locked in a room where cold water was dripped on them and “Here Comes the Hotstepper” (specifically, the “chi chi chang chang” part) was put on the stereo system’s repeat. He said it was sheer torture, and apparently, the U.S. military agrees, as they use the same tactics on suspected terrorists at Abu Ghraib. The only difference between the two scenarios is that my ex-boyfriend and his pledge bros voluntarily signed up for and endured that crap, and then the following year made the dudes dumb enough to do anything to be allowed into their social circle suffer through the same thing. Woo hoo, brotherly love!

“Here Comes the Hotstepper” was not mentioned in the Times article, but one of the songs supposedly used to break the will of terrorist suspects and cause them to confess to crimes against humanity was one I know well: the “I Love You” song from the “Barney” TV series. It’s actually the song I sing to Big Bro every night before I put him to bed, with the words slightly changed to include the names of everyone in our family. Interestingly enough, I didn’t pick the song to be our featured bedtime lullaby because of its association with Barney, but because it is sung to the tune of “This Old Man”, which is one of Big Bro’s all time faves. I actually loathe Barney with a hatred I only reserve for Karl Rove and nude pantyhose. Ugh, he’s so horrifically grating. And lame. If a children’s character could ever be designated a douchebag, Barney would win such honors. I’m sorry, but you know it’s true.

The author of the article, Bob Singleton, who was music director for the TV show “Barney and Friends”, wrote: “When I heard that “I Love You” had been used at Abu Ghraib to break the will of terror suspects, I just laughed. It’s absolutely ludicrous. A song that was designed to make little children feel safe and loved was somehow going to threaten the mental state of adults and drive them to the emotional breaking point?”

Uh, Bob, have you actually heard your song? It does precisely that, brother. The U.S. Military is using your song against the enemy for the same reason it employs assault rifles and smart bombs: they work.

Is it me, or is Bob the only dude on the planet baffled by this news?

Here in DC, my Momtourage and I are in full-on potty training mode. Some of us have all but accomplished fully potty training our kids (Dana), some are well on their way (Alicia), and some are just beginning to introduce the idea (the rest of us). Regardless of where we actually are in the process, it’s all on our minds, as most of us have kids who will be 3 between August and December.

I fall into the “just beginning to introduce the idea” category, as Big Bro is no where near being fully ready. He is, however, interested in the subject, which is promising. He loves sitting on his little potty before he takes a bath at at other times during the day, and occasionally, as luck would have it, he pees in it. My husband and I make a huge deal of it when he does, he feels happy, and all is good in the world. Now he’s fixated on pooping in it, which I consider a sign of progress. He’ll sit and sit and grunt, hoping to make things happen, confused as to why “the poop’s not coming out!” each time he wants it to. Despite this frustration, a few days ago, he actually was successful. My husband and I were freaking out, we were so excited (never thought we’d be those parents, but, of course, we are), not to mention proud of him. It hasn’t happened again since then, but he keeps on trying, and that’s all we can ask for at this point.

To maintain a child’s potty training momentum, a lot of professionals and books recommend instituting some kind of reward system - you know, a sticker a star or some sort of treat each time they go, as incentive. My kid’s not into stickers, but he does love hand stamps, so I’m using Melissa & Doug’s Happy Handle Stamping Set as his bathroom bonus. Each time he goes, he gets to pick one stamp (current favorite: the paw print, which he says is a “clue” as in a “Blue’s Clue’s” clue). They’re easy, convenient and economical, and, best of all, he really feels like getting one is some special sort of treat. Therefore, in my opinion, they’re the perfect potty reward. And if you’re one of those folks who gets all concerned about the psychological ramifications of rewarding your kid each time he poops or pees on the potty, chill. Do you honestly think he’ll be 13 and still expecting a sticker each he poops? Glad we’re clear.

You can get a stamping set of your own for $9.95 at divasanddrooligans.com. For 15% off your purchase of the stamping set and anything else you find on there that you must have, enter code MOMTOURAGE15. The site is also running a cool promotion where if you spend $35 or more on merchandise, you can purchase any of their screen tees or onesies for $1 when you enter the code DOLLARTSHIRT.

Now go forth and potty train!

Those of you who read this blog regularly know that I have two sons and no daughters. As it looks less likely every day that I can handle having more kids (read: another shot at a girl), I am therefore hoping that at least one of my sons will be gay. If this is true, perhaps I will have one shopping and Project Runway-obsessed companion who will not think twice about traveling to the beach with me when he’s 30. Let’s be honest here: if one of my 30-year old, married, straight sons wants to go on vacation with his Mommy, that’s a little weird. If one of those sons is gay, however, not so much. You feeling me here?

My littlest guy is only 2 months old, so I have no read on him yet. My oldest son, however, I think I do. He is 2 1/2, has always been obsessed with tractors. His obsession of the moment, however is monster trucks. No only does he reek of “straight”, he also smacks of my South Georgia heritage. Sadly, I’m just not thinking he’s gonna be gay.

To divert his attention from tractors and monster trucks towards pink tutus and The Nutcracker, I begged Momtourage member Alison to take him as her twin daughters’ “special guest” to ballet class, but she didn’t, opting instead to bring Momtourgae member Jen’s little girl, Maddie. “I guess he could go too,” she said, “but it will probably be all girls.” I know she was humoring me in pretending to entertain the idea, but I was serious.

Recently, however, I’m feeling a little more optimistic, as he’s been exhibiting some slightly promising tendencies:

1) He demonstrates a CLEAR preference for the colors purple and pink (usually purple, but #2 is pink). I’m gonna ignore the fact that he asked for a red balloon instead of his predictable purple the other day when we were at Trader Joe’s. He said it was because it was the same color as a fire truck, but I think by “fire truck” he meant lipstick.

2) He is WAY into blow drying his hair with my hair dryer.